Washington D.C. – White House Lawn
The press lawn was a sea of flashing cameras. Journalists shouted, microphones raised, the air buzzing with anticipation. The world watched. Cameras, satellites, livestreams. Every major news station from CNN to Al Jazeera had their lenses trained on the podium.
And there stood Barack Obama, smiling with that unshakable calm and that signature smile that somehow said everything is fine and you're all screwed at the same time.
Only Logan noticed the tension in his shoulders, the subtle flex of his hands.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the President began, "today I address a reality we can no longer deny. Meta-humans are not a rumour, not a myth. They are here. They are us."
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Logan loomed just behind him, sunglasses on, claws not out (yet), looking like the grumpiest Secret Service agent in history.
Obama began.
"My fellow Americans, and to the citizens of the world watching: Today, we face a truth that can no longer be denied. The world is changing. Our species is changing."
He paused, scanning the sea of reporters.
"Scientific data shows that in less than ten years, over seventy percent of the global population will be classified as meta-human. Whether by mutation, accident, or inheritance, this is not a rare phenomenon. It is the next stage of human evolution. Within fifty years? Ninety-eight percent. This is not the end of humanity. This is our next chapter."
His words hit like a thunderclap. Cameras zoomed. Pens scratched furiously.
Logan, posted behind him in a dark suit and sunglasses, muttered under his breath: "Bub's got guts."
Obama pressed on. "To protect freedom while ensuring safety, new laws will define the rights and responsibilities of all meta-humans. Regulation. Accountability. But also—recognition. No more shadows. No more fear."
And just like that, the world tilted.
New York – Baxter Building
While the world reeled from Obama's speech, Steel leaned over Reed Richards' shoulder, watching circuits slot into place.
"You sure that filter will hold in cosmic radiation?" Steel asked, brow arched.
Reed adjusted his glasses. "If it doesn't, we'll know firsthand. Science is iteration."
Johnny Storm leaned against the doorway, smirking. "Translation: if we all fry, it's Reed's fault."
Ben Grimm grunted, rolling his eyes. "Kid, if we fry, you'll be charcoal. None of us'll care whose fault it was."
Steel smirked faintly but didn't look away from the schematics. His neon eyes flickered once. "Reed, when you go up there… it won't just be radiation. Space isn't empty anymore. Just make sure your family's ready for what's waiting."
Reed paused. The words carried weight. He didn't ask how Steel knew. He just nodded, tightening a bolt like he was bracing himself.
Meanwhile – Between the Panels™
The story screeched to a halt. Literally screeched — the text blurred, letters rearranging into a "CENSORED FOR SPOILERS" stamp.
"Okay, timeout!" a voice shouted.
Deadpool strolled onto the blank page, swords clinking, mask tilted like a smug emoji. "I read the script. You're about to make me chase plot holes instead of chimichangas. Nope. Not happening. Not until we talk about my deal."
The page peeled open like a curtain. Behind it sat a desk, lamp, and one very annoyed Author tapping their pen.
Deadpool kicked his feet onto the desk. "So here's the pitch: you fix my face, patch up my family drama, and I'll stop wrecking your little multiverse outline. Hell, I'll even become your personal plot police. A Deadpool Cop. A Meta Agent. Think TVA but with better jokes."
The Author sighed. "You realize you're already ruining the pacing of this chapter, right?"
"Buddy, I am the pacing," Deadpool shot back. "Also, give me my bribe before I leak the ending of the Zamunda arc."
A beat. Then the Author, muttering, scribbled something in the margins. Deadpool's mask twitched, like his smile went soft beneath it.
"…You're really gonna do it?"
The Author nodded. "But you work for me now. Other Deadpools are out there. Ones who want to tear the fourth wall down until there's nothing left. You'll hunt them. Keep this story on track. Deal?"
Deadpool looked straight at the readers. "What do you think, folks? Should I—ah, who am I kidding. Roll credits. I'm in."
He shook the Author's hand. The page folded back into place, the story resuming mid-scene as if nothing happened.
Back to Reality™
Obama's speech concluded. Steel tightened the last bolt on Reed's prototype. Logan sharpened his claws against the coming storm.
And somewhere in the gutters between panels, Deadpool whistled a happy tune.
Because for once, he had a job.
Deadpool's Unauthorized Commentary™
"Yes, I sold out. But you'd do it too if someone offered you family therapy and a skincare plan in the same package.""Plot Cop Deadpool™ coming soon to Disney+. (Kidding. Unless…?)""Also, shoutout to Reed for casually inventing cosmic SPF-1000 while Obama rewrites civil rights law. Busy week, huh?"